


Patient is the Night

by southofthesky



Series: Pod AU [1]
Category: Pirate101 (Video Game), Wizard101 (Video Game)
Genre: A lot - Freeform, Angst, Battle, F/M, Fluff, Injury, Major Character Injury, No beta we die like mne, Romance, like literally so much angst, lots of death, lots of me crying while writing, lots of saddness, this talks about death like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:15:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 14,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27758257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/southofthesky/pseuds/southofthesky
Summary: Six young wizards attempt to navigate their lives amidst deep personal tragedies.Prompts from Wiztober2020
Relationships: Cassandra Sandmask/Brahm Dawncaller, Player Character (Wizard101)/Original Character(s)
Series: Pod AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2030539
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	1. Shield

She should have used the tower shield.

It was such a dumb mistake. The heat had been beating down on them from all sides. She could feel the magic- the sheer power radiating from the presence of the slumbering titan. It was happening so fast and the pressure alone was threatening to make her explode. Everything was riding on this moment. Everyone was riding on this moment. She was Atlas, the world was heavy on her shoulders, and she had made the wrong play. She’d dropped the sky right on her own head and the only person she could blame was herself.

She should have used the tower shield.

She was running out of mana. She was running out of time. The weakness had started in the tips of her fingers so many rounds ago. Now it held tightly onto her very bones, her very soul. If he hit her again she was going to lose. She knew that. He knew that. She could see it in his dark eyes when he looked at her. The pain. The fear. He wasn’t better off himself. His knuckles were white and his fist tightly clenched the remains of his deck. She couldn’t tell if his grimace was from seeing his cards or from the pain. She should have known it was the pain.

She should have used the tower shield.

_ “I have a-” “No.” _ He’d told her no. His face had been set with determination and he looked so strong in that moment. She hadn’t noticed all of the sweat on his brow. She hadn’t noticed the way his hands shook as he spoke.  _ “Take a heal. He hasn’t got much let in him.” _ He’d always known what to do. He was the smart one, she was the muscle. That’s how it had always been. She trusted him. She’d trusted his smile as he looked at her over his shoulder.  _ “We’re gonna be okay, Cass. I promise.” _

She should have used the tower shield.

It was so warm when the light of the healing spell washed over her. It was so different from the blistering fires that raged all around them. Her fingers were still stiff but it felt like new air had graced her lungs. She took a deep breath. It was hope renewed. She could do this. They could do this. They were going to be okay. Just like Brahm had said. He hadn’t lied to her before. She knew he wasn’t going to start now. She breathed out, a smile spreading across her face as she watched the green light shine from the sigil next to her. Her smile was cut short when the pixie appeared across from  _ her. _

She should have used the tower shield.

_ “Foolish boy.” _ His voice would’ve made her blood run cold if her heart hadn’t already stopped beating.  _ “Brahm. Brahm!”  _ The warmth was nowhere near as comforting as it had been moments before. Her fingers flexed over her staff.  _ “Brahm! Why?”  _ She could hear him casting his spell from across the sigil but she couldn’t bring herself to look. The tears were already starting to blur her vision as she locked onto his eyes, dark as freshly turned soil.  _ “You’re going to be okay, Cass. I love you.” _

She should have used the tower shield.

_ “Brahm!” _ Her voice burned as she screamed his name, watching his dark skin slowly lose its rosy warmth, sucked away by the spell. What was the spell? How strong was it? How much life did he have- He dropped to his knees before slumping to the side.  _ “No, no, no."  _ She couldn’t breathe, her voice caught in her throat. The light drained from his circle, dissipating into the energy swirling throughout the dueling sigil. Cass tried to run to him, but the magic of her own circle pushed her back, holding her in place. She choked back a sob.

She should have used the tower shield.

_ “Stand down or end up like your foolish friend.” _ The dark wizard was standing a little bit taller. He had regained some energy from his attack. Her teeth pushed against each other, shaking as she held onto her staff for dear life.  _ “No.” _ His staff struck the ground, the sound echoing throughout the chamber.  _ “Then die.” _ She could barely see her cards through her blurred vision, but she already knew where the spell sat in her hand. She raised her staff, golden lights flickering against the hard silver of her eyes.  _ “No.” _

She should have used the tower shield.

She didn’t watch Malistatire fall. She didn’t care. She ignored the clatter of her staff and the way the stones scraped against her knees as she dropped to the ground next to him. None of it mattered. She pulled Brahm close, whispering pleads over and over into his unhearing ear. _“Brahm, Brahm, please say something, Brahm.” “Cassandra.”_ Cyrus crouched down next to her as he spoke. _“Cassandra you have to let him go.”_ _“No- no-”_ He gently took Brahm out of her arms, laying him back on the cold stone. _“I can’t- I should have-” “I know.”_ Cyrus pulled her into his chest, her tears staining his yellow robes. _“I’m so sorry. We both lost someone that we loved today.”_ He stayed there with her, holding her as the embers died.

She should have used the tower shield.


	2. Blade

_ “Stand still!” laughed Brahm. He stood a whole head taller than her, giggling as he held the athame away from her. “Alura!” _

_ The younger girl looked absolutely mortified, holding down her tight curls. “Brahm! My hair!” _

_ “I’m not going to cut your hair!” He placed a hand on top of her head, pushing away any loose strands as he steadied the blade. The cold metal pressed into the soft wood of the door frame, making a notch at his sister’s exact height. “There.” _

_ Alura stepped out, turning about-face to squint at the fresh cut. Each side of the frame was marked with similar notches, one side dedicated to one of the two siblings. Twelve for Brahm and now nine for Alura. Her face broke into a pout as she realized his ninth mark rested a few inches above her own. He smiled, socking her lightly on the shoulder. “Better luck next time.” _

_ “I’m going to catch up to you! Just you wait!” _

_ “Whatever you say, Lala.” _

Alura smiled fondly at the memory as her fingers traced tenderly over the old door frame, stopping to tap on each little divet. That had been the first year their parents had trusted Brahm to come anywhere near her head with a blade. Professor Drake had been teaching his first-year class all about athames and their magical uses that week and Brahm had been so excited to show her his first one. By the time she started at Ravenwood he’d gotten a much nicer one, but he’d been sentimental enough to give her the one he’d started with. He was always doing things like that. Holding onto the most inconsequential things and making them so much more important years down the road. She had thought it was so embarrassing back then. Standing here with that same athame now, she felt a little guilty for making fun of him.

“Happy birthday Brahm,” she whispered as she dug the blade into the wall. His side of the frame reached up sixteen notches, the highest one much, much deeper than the others. Her sixteen marks rose up on the other side, edging Brahm’s last nick out by a few inches. “I guess I did catch up after all.”


	3. Trap

“Just you watch out Taz. One day you’re going to walk so deep into trouble that you won’t be able to walk back out.”

That was something Taryn’s grandfather would say to her every time she did something she wasn’t supposed to. Bad grades, mean friends, that one time she let a stranger drive her home from school because she was sore from gym and didn’t want to walk. The only thing she was better at than getting into trouble was getting out of trouble. Her incredible predilection for weaseling her way out of the situations she got herself into caused her to never take Gramps words too seriously. He’d been old for a long time. She couldn’t remember a time he didn’t have grey hair. What did he know about being a kid anyway?

So she never headed the man’s words. He was lonely and paranoid, she’d tell herself. He just thinks that I’m going to ruin my life like my mom, was a common mantra she’d recite to herself when she was in trouble, stuck in his office while he worked so he could keep an eye on her. Those days were always the worst. She’d sit there, trapped in that dreary room, nose pressed up against the glass of the window to see what was going on outside. She’d find her entertainment in racing raindrops and counting claps of thunder because it was better than sitting there twiddling her thumbs or worse- reading one of her grandpa’s books. And the second she was free, she’d be right back in the thick of it. That was just who she was. Lightning in a bottle.

She’d been out getting into trouble when he died too. Some stupid thing too dumb for her to remember now. It’d been a heart attack. His body just couldn’t take sitting in that small dark office anymore and gave up on him. It had rained at his funeral. She stood at the graveside for hours, watching raindrops race down his tombstone. What a dummy he’d been, she’d thought in her eleven-year-old brain. He spent his last years typing away at a computer in a dingy little room and then he died there. That wasn’t going to be her. She wasn’t going to be trapped like that. She wasn’t lightning in a bottle, she was wild and loud and  _ free _ .

It’d been a year after gramps died when she ended up in some old weirdo’s study. She’d been skateboarding after school, trying to avoid her foster parent's house. It wasn’t a bad place to live by any means. The Johnsons were nice and all, but she was a Starwielder. And that meant looking for trouble. It had all happened so fast too. A flash of light and a crack in the pavement and she and her skateboard were suddenly in another world being told that she was magic. It was totally unreal. She was half-convinced she skateboarded into the street and got hit by oncoming traffic. But the old guy seemed pretty convinced that he was a wizard and that she was one too. Born from the storm, he had told her. Creative and powerful.

She wasn’t sure when it was, between the uniforms and the homework and the attempts by dark wizards to rebuild the universe that she realized how deep she had waded into the trouble. The water was lapping around her shoulders and the tides were only pulling her further in. She couldn’t walk back out anymore. It was sink or swim and in all her years getting into trouble, she’d never had to fight to stay afloat. At some point, she’d waltzed right back into the bottle and she was itching to get out.


	4. Worlds

It wasn’t until after she graduated from Ravenwood that Cassandra truly became a student.

The first night after becoming the divine paradox was unlike any other. She was so tired but she couldn’t sleep. It was like every part of her was trying to tear itself apart and condense into nothingness all at once. She shook and she cried, alone in that big quiet house she used to think of as home, unable to stop jittering for long enough to get the spiral key to Ravenwood out of the drawer in her office. Trapped in her own mind and haunted by the things she had done and the things she had not. The what-ifs and the maybe colliding together like supernovas with the realities of her life. Cyrus had found her there the next morning. He claimed he was simply coming by the collect on a bet he had with Nolan about her wellbeing, but they both knew that he had simply come to check on her.

She spent the morning hulded in Merle’s office, blanket placed tenderly on her shoulders by Lydia and a warm cup of tea handed off by Arthur. They were all too kind to her. Delicate. The weight of the worry in their eyes went unnoticed. She was lost in her own head. Her own thoughts and memories intermixing and mingling with things she’d never seen. Rain running down a windowpane on a street she didn’t recognize. Seeing Bartleby for the first time. Cold metal pressing into soft wood. Brahm smiling at her from a bed of flowers. Endless spinning en pointe. It was like she could feel everything in the room from the leatherbound books to the sparkling model of the spiral spinning above.

She tried to focus on one thing. Push everything else away. Let things swirl around her without pulling them into her orbit. Each thing was it’s own little world if she could just stay calm, she could stop them from colliding with each other. The Wizard City miniature floated across her vision, Bartleby’s watchful eye sparking something within her. Oh.  _ Oh. _

Being the scion of the tree that held the world together had unwanted perks.

Cassandra wasn’t used to learning sedentarily. Everything in her life always felt like it was happening so fast. Bartleby had to teach her how to slow down. She’d sit among his roots and meditate for hours every day. The world was full of thousands, millions of things for her to reach out and touch, see, and feel, but she needed to learn how to handle it. She needed to lay down roots and let the world spin on around her before she could go traipsing across it again.

She got to know Wizard City so well over those few months. Every sight and sound. How the water flowed through the streets like veins and the way the world breathed so slowly at night. It was easier to handle sensations when she knew what they were and why they were happening. Feelings became something she could compartmentalize automatically. The hooves on stone were just Deigo heading to the dueling arena, faint music was only the carousel, and laughter was only a class of 3rd years in Halston’s room. Everything had its place, it just took her a while to find out where those spots were.

The first time she had tried to step outside of Wizard City had been a mistake.

Bartleby had warned her it would be overwhelming to go through a spiral door, let alone enter another world. It was just Krokotopia, she had told him. She knew that place like the back of her hand. He had insisted someone accompany her and Cyrus agreed to go. He didn’t have any class that afternoon he claimed. No one drew any attention to the fact that no one had classes that afternoon. Cyrus didn’t have as good of a poker face as he thought he did, after all.

Unfortunately, it was all for naught. Heading through the door at the great tree’s center had knocked her to her knees. She could feel the pure magic passing around her as she stepped across the boundary. It was overpowering and disorienting. Her ears were ringing and the world felt so far away. It took Cryus’ hand on her shoulder to draw her back to reality, but that only made things worse. She could feel his heart pumping in her ears, the cold stone underneath her, the warm sun beating down outside. The sensory overload was so much worse than it was the first time. She knew she needed to sort through everything but there was just too much. She could barely single out a few things going on in the room that she was in. Let alone what was going on outside.

She didn’t even notice Cyrus pulling her back through the door until the magic washed over her again. He sat there next to her while she shook and cried and tried to sort herself out. She just needed more time, he told her. There was another route to get to where she wanted to go, all she needed to do was find it.

One of the spare rooms in her new house on Unicorn Way was quickly turned into her personal study. She spent her meditations trying to reach out and feel another world, any world, from the comfort of Bartleby’s roots. She’d spend days in the library with Harold, tearing through books and trying to seep up every piece of information that she could. Every night, she’d pour her spiral keys out onto the kitchen table and hold each one in her hands, trying to discern something, anything from their touch. It was like learning how the world worked all over again, and she was determined to see just what made it tick.


	5. Spiral

When she was little, Rowan’s favorite ballet move had been the  _ pirouette _ . She’d do them all across the house, whatever house they were in, watching the halls spin all around her. Turn, step. Turn, step. Turn step. If her mother’s door was open she would yell after her that her arms were getting sloppy. She stopped doing them around the house after she tripped and fell down the spiral staircase at their home in Valencia. Her mother had taken her by the arm, face scrunched up in anger, and told her that she was lucky the only thing she broke was her pride. One snapped ankle and she would never dance the same again.

She stopped dancing around the house after that.

Her mother had been a dancer when she was young. A member of the Royal Ballet on her way to stardom. Her parents had met backstage at one of her shows. He’d mistaken her for the prima and asked her out to dinner. By the time the mistake was realized, they were both already smitten. They were engaged when a single slip had ended her mother’s career. She knew it made her mother sad that she couldn’t dance, but it was hard to wish that she still could. If it hadn’t been for the break Rowan never would’ve been born, really. Her mother would have been too busy to have a baby. She was certain of that.

She got a new ballet teacher every time they moved house. Marleybone, Wysteria, Polaris, Mooshu, Mirage, no matter where she was in the spiral she was dancing.  _ Chassé, chassé, grand jete, fondu, fouette, fouette, fouette.  _ The dance studio would spin.  _ Again. _ Her bedroom would warp all around her.  _ Again. _ The practice room. Spinning and twirling and spiraling until she would topple over. And then she’d stand up and do it again and again. Over and over until she got it right.

Rowan’s father wasn’t a dancer. He was a merchant whose parents had been wizards at Ravenwood School for the Magical Arts. He had always resented his parent’s magic. He’d built his entire career out of spite. Naturally, he wasn’t very happy when Rowan showed magical aptitude. Neither was her mother. Magic didn’t fit into the plan they’d crafted for their lives and they didn’t want to deal with it. They shipped her off to stay with her grandparents as soon as she turned twelve. She was their problem. Ravenwood was their problem. She danced at her grandparents too.  _ Couru, couru, arabesque, pump turn.  _ She’d practice her turns in her dorm room when she wasn’t practicing magic. Spinning and spinning and spinning until she toppled to the floor. Get up and do it again.


	6. Mystery

Taryn had a difficult time adjusting to life in Wizard City. Sure, living in a fantastical wonderland was amazing, but there were a lot of things that simply didn’t make sense. Why could some trees talk but other trees couldn’t? How did each individual street have a completely different biome than the others? Why was everyone just fine with going to class every day when dark wizards were actively trying to destroy the spiral and they could all die any minute? Why did all of her classmates keep asking her questions about Miss Sandmask like they were best friends or something? Actually, that last one did have an answer that made sense, it just took a few months for anyone to tell her. Or maybe it just took a few months for her to work up the courage to ask someone about it.

“Oh, I thought you knew,” laughed the older storm student. “You’re both from Earth. You two are like, the only magical people from there so everyone just . . . assumes.”

Taryn couldn’t believe it was something as stupid as that. She’d never met this girl in her life! Earth was huge! Did they think every world was as small as theirs? Earth was more than a glorified Hogwarts and a handful of streets. The only reason people even bothered her about this girl in the first place was that she was never actually around. She was off running around doing whatever it was universal saviors did all day. Taryn couldn’t be forced to have that responsibility, but she certainly wouldn’t mind getting to leave Wizard City every once in a while. One could only fight the Kraken so many times before they got down right bored. What would her six months ago self think about that statement? Here she was, learning to conjure lightning with her fingertips while her past self was out skateboarding to avoid spending time with Mr. and Mrs. Perfect-Foster-Parents.

She was the scourge of the city with that skateboard too. No one there had ever seen anything like it before and whipping through the shopping district and gliding down the tunnels between streets was always a good way to shake things up when she felt like the walls were closing in. Balestrom was the only teacher that she didn’t drive crazy by boarding around Ravenwood. He thought it was a “creative way for her to release pent up energy”. He also seemed to have similar ADHD tendencies, so she assumed he understood her need to move.

One day, when she was leaving her healing course in the life classroom, Taryn saw  _ her _ . Taryn was coming out of the life classroom and she was just sitting there among the roots of Bartleby, legs crossed in front of her and eyes softly closed. The way her classmates whispered and stared made it fairly easy to tell that this was the girl she had been hearing about for the past year of her life. But that wasn’t the only indicator. There was this air around her. It was an aura of pure magical strength unlike any of Taryn’s teachers. Not even the headmaster’s aura could hold a candle to the raw power that radiated off of this teenager in waves. And people had been asking if they  _ knew each other _ ? Jesus Christ.

Sandmask was back the next day and the day after. She’d spend hours each morning meditating on the grass, completely ignoring the gaggles of students that passed by her with wide-eyed stares. Even the students in their finals years at Ravenwood would point and whisper as they moved from class to class. From what Taryn could put together, she hadn’t been much of a presence in Ravenwood even when she was an actual student. Seeing her in class was rare and seeing her more than once a month was impossible. And now she was here. Every day. Talking to no one except for the trees.

The allure wore off pretty quickly for most students. Like elementary schoolers with a goldfish, it was fun for the first couple of days, but it was easily forgotten about. It wasn’t that simple for Taryn. She had questions for her. Why was she mediating like her life depended on it? Did she miss Earth? Had she gone back at all? Would she if she could? What was her life like before all of this? Taryn would find herself gliding past her most days, hoping that the rattling of her wheels on the cobblestone would get her to just peak an eye open at her. Notice her in some way. Anything at all. No dice.

Eventually, even the savior of the spiral moved on. She stopped spending most of her days in Ravenwood, her spot on the grass slightly yellowed from its nigh constant occupation. Taryn watched as it slowly grew back to match the lush green spires growing beside it and tried not to focus on why it made her heart feel all lumpy inside her chest. Even the soil could move on from something so truly inconsequential as a girl on the grass but Taryn was trapped in her own head thinking about it. Why couldn’t she just drop it and move on like she did with her mythology homework?

Maybe it was so easy for the other students, for the soil even, to move on because they all had someone else to worry about. Someone else to care about them and pull them out of any hyper obsessive ruts.

But that was a question about herself that Taryn didn’t want to answer.


	7. Mice

Rowan’s first real friend had been a mouse named Angelina. They had been in the same junior ballet class together when Rowan lived in Marleybone. Angelina didn’t have the newest and the nicest dance clothes like Rowan did, but they both had to wait for their parents to finish with work after class, and that was where they bonded. Rowan would share half of the snack that their butler had packed her with the girl and they would talk about the things children spoke of. Fairies and far off worlds. Pirates and magic. Eventually, Angelina’s mother would arrive on foot, looking worn out but still so happy to see her little girl. Angelina would give Rowan a quick hug before bouncing off with her mother, excitedly telling her about everything that they did at ballet class. Rowan’s father would come by in the car not too long afterward, urging her inside so they could enjoy the quiet ride home.

Rowan never got to say goodbye to Angelina. They were off to Valencia and silly little things like ballet friendships didn’t matter. Rowan never got over the way it made her heart hurt.

Professor Greyrose noticed the fact that she had no friends about three months after she started at Ravenwood. Rowan would come to class, sit perfectly silent, perform excellently, and repeat. She didn’t giggle with the other first years as she left class or pass notes while she was lecturing. It was fairly normal for Ravenwood students to have a bit of trouble meeting new people, especially in the Ice School, but usually, they had at least a friend or two by the third month. Greyrose even cross-referenced with the other teachers to be sure. They’d never seen her speak to another soul. She had had plenty of experience with late bloomers, however, and decided to simply keep an eye on it.

As the months pressed on and the situation failed to improve, she moved to more drastic measures. Partner assignments, group projects, class bonding activities. Nothing she did seemed to force any sort of partnership or camaraderie. Heart aching for the young wizard so seemingly alone, Lydia reached out to her peers. Did they have any students that were struggling? Had they found any solutions? It wasn’t long before they had a very short list of names. A trio of girls that seemed unwilling to engage with their peers. Rowan Frostheart, Taryn Starwielder, and Alura Dawncaller. Arthur was the one to propose they bring them together. And Ambrose knew exactly the wizard to bring it all together.

When Rowan received a letter from the headmaster telling her that she had been selected for a trial run of a new mentoring system at Ravenwood she was torn between fear and excitement. She was glad that she had something noteworthy to write her parents about. Perhaps real recognition for her magical diligence would catch their attention. But the other part of her was torn. Mentoring meant other people and she wasn’t good with those. She’d only had one real friend in her entire life and she had only been six years old back then. Truth be told, she was scared to mess up again. She never did get to say goodbye to Angelina, and she couldn’t imagine what the young mouse thought of her now. If she even thought about her at all.

Rowan’s parents didn’t reply to her letter, but she accepted the mentorship anyway. Maybe it was time for her to find someone new to hold on to.


	8. Birds

Alone in a study room in the Wizard City Library, Alura watched a bird build its nest. The cardinal had been working diligently since before she had arrived and its borrow of sticks and twigs was beginning to shape up into a nice place to live. Her strong jaw rested gently in her dark palms as she watched the bird flit down to the ground and back up again. Up and down over and over, never straying too far from the nest it was trying to form. Maybe it was scared that it would get lost if it flew too far away. She could understand that. The world was wide and it was nice to have a nice safe space to call home, even if it was just a little while. Home was everything to her. It was the reason that she was here today.

When she’d gotten the offer to join a trial mentorship program she had been planning to decline. She was coming along well in her studies all on her own and she didn’t need someone to tell her what she was doing wrong and she certainly didn’t want to direct a young student in their education either. Unfortunately, she had made the mistake of leaving the letter from the headmaster on the living room table and her mother had found it. Mariah had been a student of Myth herself and was so enamored with learning that she now worked in the library Alura had found herself in as a specialist in ancient text. She insisted that Alura joined the program because “there is so much to learn from every experience”. So far all that she was learning was that no one else in Wizard City respected her time.

“Sorry I’m late,” said a light Marleybonian accent, drawing Alura’s attention from the cardinal’s nest. The girl was small and clearly a few years younger than Alura. She had ivory skin, a wide, flat nose, and a soft, round face. Her almond-shaped eyes were a dangerous blue, that paired with the icy white hair hacked off a few inches above her shoulders told Alura exactly what school of magic she was studying. Why did Ambrose send her a baby ice wizard? “I’m Rowan, are you supposed to be my mentor?”   


Alura simply shrugged. No one had told her anything. Just a time and place to meet. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Oh, I supposed I’ll just sit here then,” she sunk down into one of the chairs near the door, smoothing over her uniform. It was a second-year uniform from what Alura could tell, and it bore the distinct blue and white of the School of Ice on the right breast pocket, interwoven with Ravenwood’s crest. At least she’d been right about that.

Her eyes went back to the window, where the cardinal was sitting in it’s near completed nest. It poked its beak at the edges, seemingly trying to perfect its structure. Her features softened as she watched it peck away. She wondered if it was building the nest for its family. She would love to see it's young someday soon. It felt like they had bonded together, stuck in this dull study room. Maybe she’d even get to see them fly for the first time.

A ruckus at the door forced her to whip around. A third-year student was stumbling in, long blonde hair flying in odd directions and a wooden board with wheels under her left arm. Oh, Alura had seen her around campus plenty on that horrendous thing. It drove her mad when she heard it coming up behind her, it’s rider zipping through the throng of students without a care in the world, expecting everyone to simply move out of her way. She’d never learned the grey-eyed monster’s name, but she knew the disposition of a storm wizard anywhere. What was this mentorship program even supposed to be? “Ugh, life and ice? What kind of a program is this anyway.”

Alura’s nose scrunched up in disgust at the way the blonde echoed her own thoughts. She’d never been fond of the School of Storm. They were all loud, brash, and frankly, obnoxious. And this one didn’t seem too keen on refuting that stereotype as she dropped down to her seat at the table as close to the door as she could get. Alura suppressed an eye roll as she began tapping her fingers against the oaken table to a beat that the rest of them were unaware of.

Her focus returned to her friend in the tree outside, her heart stopping for a moment. The cardinal had quit its poking and prodding and now stood on the tree branch, looking directly at her. She unconsciously shifted forward in her seat, moving closer to the window out, her curiosity getting the best of her. The bird’s head tilted to the side as it peered at her, almost as if it was waiting for her to do something. Her brows furrowed in thought, head tilting to mirror his as she whispered to herself, “What are you waiting for, little birdie?”   


As if it could understand her, the cardinal quickly lifted its wings and shot away from the library like a dart. The shock of its sudden movements sent her reeling slightly backward, back bumping the edge of the table. No one else in the room noticed however, they were much more concerned with the two people that had just entered.

“Girls, I am glad that you could all make it,” spoke Professor Whethersfield, startling Alura. “I’m sure you all have a lot of questions about our little project here but first I’d like to introduce you to-”   


“What are you doing here?” Alura spit out as she stood. Staring back at her with wide silvery eyes was Cassandra Sandmask. Clearly, she hadn’t expected her to be there either. But that didn’t matter to Alura, all she could feel was a wave of fiery anger that usually resided deep in her bones flaring up to the surface of her skin. Her hands burned as she grabbed her bag and headed straight toward the door.

“Alura-” Sandmask reached out to grab her shoulder as she passed by, but Alura ripped it out of her hand, pressing forward.

“Don’t.”

And just like the cardinal, she was gone, leaving the other two wizards as confused as a couple of young wizards could possibly be.


	9. Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING  
> This chapter is a depiction of someone being buried alive and having to crawl out of their grave, please tread carefully if you struggle with claustrophobia, taphophobia, or nyctophobia.

When he woke up, it was dark. And cold. A cold that seared him right down to his very soul. He reached up, trying to feel something in the darkness. His hands hit wood. Fast. He could barely lift his arms away from his chest. His fingers pushed but the wooden block wouldn’t move. They danced to the sides, to the place above his head, his feet kicked up and down in search of some room to breathe. Wood, wood, wood, wood. He was trapped in a small dark box with no way out. The air felt tight in his lungs. Where was he? Who was he? Why did someone put him in here? How long had he been there?

How much air did he have left?

His mind and heart raced as he attempted to feel around for something, anything. A divet in the wood, a hinge, a doorknob for spiral’s sake. Quick, dry breaths filled the small space as he fervently searched, before an unbridled scream ripped from the deepest parts of his body, “Help!”

No answer came and he continued to scream, his cries beating against his ears like the beat of a sickening drum, “Help! Someone, please help! Let me out, let me out!”

The tears came so fast and burned against his face, trembling hands beating against the dark wood above him. His throat felt like it was full of cotton and he couldn’t bring himself to speak more than the stray whispered plea. All he wanted to do was curl up in a ball and sob until he ran out of tears. He confines saw to it that all he could do was lie on his back, palms beating senselessly against the hardwood in hopes that someone would hear.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, crying and turning the skin on his hands raw. It could have been a few minutes, it could have been hours. The darkness around him was all-consuming. He couldn’t tell where it ended and he began. He sucked it in with every one of his quick breaths. It dugs itself under his fingernails and seeped into his pores, attaching to him. Becoming part of him. A deep, unsettling nothingness that threatened to take over his entire soul, mind, and body alike if he didn’t get out of there.

He didn’t want to succumb to the darkness.

A new determination fueled him. He was not going to die like this. He was getting out of here. Wiggling around, he pressed his knees up against the lid of the box, bringing them and his head as close to the discernable center of the box as he could. With a sudden jerking motion, he pressed his knees as hard and fast into the wood. It creaked as it resettled. Bam, bam, bam, bam. He could feel the welts forming on his knees but he clenched his jaw and worked through the pain. Bam, bam, bam, bam.

With a sickening crack, the wood splintered above him and his right knee gave out in unspeakable pain. He didn’t have time to cry. Dry dirt began to flood into his box, his coffin. He didn’t have time to think. His feet kicked out, trying to widen the hole he’d made as he pulled his shirt up and over his face. The wood gave way easily now. His hands clasped at sharp edges, ignoring the splinters as he hefted himself skyward into the darkness. He was not going to die like this.

His left hand breached the surface first, new air blowing against his raw and bloody fingertips. Then it was his right. He stepped onto the edge of his coffin, propelling himself further upward. His head finally came out of the earth, hands ripping off his makeshift mask as he greedily sucked up new air. It was cold and crisp and it was the best thing that he’d ever tasted. And the light . . . the dark night sky, dotted with constellations he couldn’t name was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

It took him a moment to cawl his way completely out, but when he did, he simply rolled onto his back and stared up at the night sky. It was pitch black out and freezing, but he wouldn’t trade the sights and sounds for anything else in the world. He was alive. He was so, so incredibly alive.

And that was enough for him.


	10. Trusted Ally

When Brahm was a kid, it was easy for everyone in the house to tell that he wanted to ask a question. He’d rock back and forth on his feet, a nervous smile on his face, unknowingly nodding his head. So when Alura walked out of the life classroom to see him standing there, shifting and smiling, looking like he was counting imaginary numbers in his head, she knew he had a question.

It’d only been a couple of days since he and the balance wizard had returned from Mooshu and she could tell that something had changed with him. Every other time they had come back from another world he spent as much time he could with her and their parents as he could. This time, however, he’d been uncharacteristically absent from their home. She had a feeling that it had something to do with the tall brunette witch he’d been spending all his time with recently. The way they giggled at the stupid things the other one said and their gazes lingered when the other one wasn’t looking told Alura everything she needed to know. And she had an odd feeling that that was exactly what Brahm wanted to talk to her about.

He waved as he spotted her watching him. She failed to return his smile as she approached. “What do you want?”

His nose crinkled at her attitude, “Hi Brahm. How are you doing Brahm? It was nice of you to come all the way here to see me.”

“I don’t have time for this. I have Professor Drake in a few minutes.”

“Alura. Please. This is important.” She failed to suppress an eye roll at his insistence. “Alura.”

Throwing her hands up in defeat, she allowed Brahm to take her hand, pulling her closer to Blossom and away from any listening ears. He was being a little overly dramatic. Everyone in Ravenwood already knew that he and the Balance wizard only had eyes for each other. There was no need for secrecy. There were betting pools amongst the older students on when they were finally going to make it official and they were barely ever on campus. That was how obvious they were. She knew Brahm was oblivious, but it was honestly getting embarrassing at this point.

“Well?” she asked, tired of watching him chew on his lip. “What is it?”   


“I’m going to Dragonspyre. Tonight.”

Her mouth dropped open in shock. Her brain stuttered. “What?”

“Cass and I have been training with Cyrus for the last few days and he thinks we’re ready. We’re leaving as soon as it gets dark out.”

“You’re- you’re-”

“Alura,” he grabbed her hand with an air of seriousness that sunk fear into her heart. “I can’t go home tonight. Mom and dad will- I need you to tell them I love them.”

Ripping her hand away, she stumbled back a few feet, shocked and confused. “Tell them yourself, Brahm.”

“I know that I- I owe it to them to look them in the eyes before I go but I just can’t. If I do I won’t be able to leave.”

“Then don’t leave.”

The siblings simply stared at one another. Brahm’s eyes were pleading, poised to reach out and hold her at any moment. Alura recoiled into herself. She didn’t know what to think or feel. Why was he so concerned with this? He’d gone to plenty of worlds and come back just fine. Every single time they’d seen him off at the spiral door as a family and every single time they had warmly welcomed him back home. This didn’t make sense. None of this made any sense.

“You’re the only person I trust to do this, Lala.”

“I have class.”

With that, she spun on her heel, head down, and headed toward the Myth classroom. Brahm didn’t bother to call out after her. She was as stubborn as an ox. He just hoped that she would do it.


	11. Magic Romance

“I can read palms you know.” ****

They were walking through the gardens of the Jade Palace. They’d only arrived in Mooshu last night and were having a look around the place before heading right back into the belly of the beast. Brahm had a pep in his step, a smile playing on his face and his hands clasped behind his back. It was a trap. Cass knew it was a trap. He wasn’t much of a sneak. But she didn’t care. He might have been the worst at hiding things, but she was even worse at telling him no. It was that smile. It was too sweet. She’d give anything to see him, bright and grinning. He was like the sun and she was all too happy to orbit around him. Anything to bask in that glow. ****

She was happy to walk right into the bear trap. ****

“Oh yeah?” ****

He nodded. “Professor Drake was sure to tell us it was all hogwash the entire time. I honestly think Ambrose puts it on the curriculum to spite him.” ****

That made her laugh. He did that so well, making her laugh. It was a nice reprieve from the way the world seemed to clatter around them all the time. Every time it felt like her world was falling apart he’d say the dumbest thing and she just couldn’t help it. And every time she laughed he’d give her that smile and well, we already know how she is about that. ****

“Well?” she asked, unable to hold back a smile of her own. “Are you going to read my palm?” ****

He stopped next to the reflecting pond, holding out his hand to her. She gave him a playful eye roll as she dropped her hand into his. Instead of peering in to look at the lines that danced across her palm, however, he grasped it tightly and pulled down. He attempted to pull her to his right but her struggling sent them careening to the left- straight into the reflecting pond. ****

“Brahm!” She screeched, smacking him lightly on the shoulder. They were both soaked through their skin. Her hair was a mess. Her hat was absolutely ruined but it was really hard to care when Brahm was sitting across from her and laughing at their mutual misfortune. God, that boy really had bewitched her. ****

“Come on,” he said, grabbing her hand again like it didn’t fill her stomach with butterflies and pulling her up onto the other bank. “You’re too gullible, Cass. Really.” ****

“You took advantage of me!” She defended. “Can you even read palms?” ****

“Of course I can!”   


“Well now I just don’t believe you,” she grumbled as she wrung out her hat. He nabbed her hand again, causing her to drop it back in the pond. “Hey!” ****

He stubbornly ignored her protests, focused entirely on her hand. His hands were large and soft. A side effect of being a wizard his entire life. The hardest thing he’d had to do growing up was flip the pages of books and it definitely showed. His smooth skin made her feel self-conscious of her own. Odd calluses and old scars. Rough and reddened from years of work. But no amount of unease could pull her away from this moment. Both of their hands were still wet and her hair was dripping water, but she simply couldn’t tear her eyes away from the sight of him investigating her palm. ****

“This one his your headline,” he said, reaching a fingertip up to trace along its length. Her breath hitched slightly at the contact, but if he noticed, he didn’t say anything. “Yours cuts all the way across your palm in a straight line, that means that you over-analyze things. You gotta get out of your head.” ****

Her only response was a silent nod as he continued on, moving to the line nearest to her thumb. “This is your lifeline. Your’s is pretty short but don’t worry. It doesn’t indicate how long you’ll live, just that you like to keep busy when things get hard. That’s probably why you’re so good at all of this, honestly. There are a lot of breaks in here, though. Those represent life changes.” He pointed out a large gap in the line. “Like, this one was probably you finding out that magic was real and you were meant to save the entire universe.” ****

“That’s not-” ****

“Shush, I’m reading.” She bit back a smile at his seriousness. He was too cute. He traced another line, running his finger from the base of her palm to the top of it. “This one is your fate line. It tells you how much of your life will be controlled by destiny. Yours starts with your lifeline meaning that you’ve had a path laid out for you from birth. But, if you look here, you see that your line gets shallower as it runs up your palm. That means that you shuck off your destiny to find your own path in life.” ****

“That’s probably not a great idea if my destiny is to save the spiral, is it?” ****

“Hey,” he said, finally looking up to catch her eyes. “You’re going to be okay, Cass. I promise.” ****

The look lingered for just a moment too long before Brahm looked back down as if nothing had happened. He traced over the last line on her hand, dipping underneath her final few fingers. “And this one’s your heart line. A lot of people call it the love line but I think that’s dumb really. Yours is a bit weird, though. See, this split on the end here means that you tend to put your emotions on the back burner so that you can support other people and this huge break here means that you’ll have a big emotional trauma. My sister has a big break like that too.” ****

“What about yours?” she asked. He helpfully offered his hand to her. ****

“Mine’s perfectly normal, see?”

It was just as he said. It was long and straight, running deeply in the skin of his palms. She tentatively ran her finger along the other lines he had shown her, stopping at the end of his lifeline. “Yours is a lot longer than mine.” ****

“I guess I’ll just live a lot longer than you then.”    
A gasp escaped her lips. “You said it doesn’t mean that!” ****

He smiled brightly at the way she was pouting, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “Maybe I lied to make you feel better.” ****

She scoffed, slapping her hands in his direction as if it would push him further away from her. His laughter rang throughout the courtyard as he caught her wrists in his hands, halting her playful attack. She couldn’t help but giggle as she gave up, arms going limp in defeat. The rays of sunlight were filtering through the tree branches and illuminating with their soft glow. His warm brown eyes shone as he looked at her, two small stars pulling her closer to him. She didn’t notice what she was doing until their faces were only a few inches apart. ****

“Cass?” It was a soft whisper as he looked at her, eyes darting around her face as if he was trying to take in the sight of a work of art. She searched his eyes as if they held the answer to a question that was simply her name. ****

“Can I kiss you?” ****

He blinked, reeling back slightly in surprise. She mentally hit herself. Why did she say that? Why? “I’m sorry I-” ****

He didn’t let her finish. Instead, he pressed his lips against hers, soft, sweet, and unsure. It was quick and it was perfect and it was over far too quickly. Her hand moved unconsciously to her lips as if she could still feel the kiss lingering there. He reached out and took it, intertwining their fingers together, palm lines married to each other. “The thing is . . . I like you. Like a lot. An absolutely terrifying amount. I have for a while now and every time I look at you all I want to do is kiss you and-” ****

She kissed him again, with much more intention than his chaste peck. Neither of them could help but smile into it, laughing as they broke apart. ****

“I like you a lot too. I have for a long time.” ****

“Yeah?” He asked, pushing a strand of wet hair behind her ear.

“Yeah,” she replied, reaching up to peck him again. He grinned wildly into her kiss and wrapped his arms around her tightly, pulling her down into the grass with a shriek. His antics rolled them right back into the pond but neither of them particularly cared. They were both unbelievably, deliriously happy. And that was enough for them.


	12. Deep Water

For a school full of wizards, they did not have a good organizational system. The Wizard City Library’s newspaper archives were disastrous at best. Rows and rows of alphabetically-organized cardboard boxes. Alphabetically. For the Ravenwood Bulletin. Who would organize a newspaper alphabetically instead of by date? What monster would do this unless their goal was to frustrate out of looking for old news? Maybe Ambrose would let her go back to Earth to bring them some real technology. They could really, really, really use an electronic archive. This was absolutely archaic. Barbaric. Insane.

“What are you doing back here?”

Taryn whipped around to see the ice wizard from the meeting standing in the doorway. What a disaster that had been. Sandmask being there had been the only selling point she’d seen to this mentorship thing. Clearly, the life wizard hadn’t been properly informed of that aspect. What could possibly be so bad between them that she had to storm out and get the whole day canceled?

“I’m researching something,” she replied, turning her attention back to the demon box she was combing through. Still feeling eyes on her, she looked back at the ice wizard again. “Can I help you?”

“What’re you looking for?” she asked in that annoying British accent. Marleybonian she had been told, but it was definitely British.

Frustrated with the alphabet and the interrogation, she kicked the box toward the white-haired girl. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not gonna find anything anyway.”

The girl crouched down, plucking one of the papers out of the box. “The Ravenwood bulletin? What the bloody hell are you going through these for?”

“It’s none of your business.”

She reached to put it back, a look of confusion coming over her face as she looked between the paper in her hand and the ones in the box. “Are these organized alphabetically?”   


Taryn simply threw her hands up in frustration in response. The other girl sat down, trying to figure out where to put back the one that she’d pulled out. Why couldn’t anything be simple in this stupid town? Honestly, magic folk made everything much more complicated than it needed to be and for no good reason. She was going to pick a fight with Mr. Argleston and anyone else he let organize this godforsaken newspaper room. Hopefully, they weren’t too much bigger than her. She’d really like to knock them around a few times.

“Why the C’s? Half of these are about Miss Sandmask . . .” she looked back up at Taryn as if realizing what she was doing. “Are you trying to find out why Dawncaller hates her so much?”

“Dawncaller?” Taryn blinked back at her. “Is that the life wizard’s name?”

“Yes, Alura Dawncaller. Do you know anyone’s names around here?”

“No.” The girl looked exasperated. Taryn couldn’t help that she tuned everyone else out. She only knew Sandmask’s name because no one would shut up about her. She’d never heard the name Dawncaller in association with the Savior of the Spiral though. Taking a deep breath, she decided that she might as well introduce herself. “I’m Taryn, by the way. Taryn Starwielder.”

“I know.” The blonde quirked an eyebrow. “I asked someone the first time I saw you riding around on that infernal invention you call transportation.”

Taryn opened her mouth to defend herself, but the girl cut her off by sticking out her hand. “Rowan Frostheart. FIgured you didn’t know my name if you didn’t know Alura’s.”

Leaning across the way, she accepted the girl’s handshake. Her hands were small and freezing cold. Ice wizards. “So what’s her deal?”   
  
“Who’s?”

“Dawncaller.”

“Oh,” Rowan leaned back on her hands, biting her lip in thought. “I don’t know the whole story, obviously. I’m only a second year and this was three or four years ago but I remember seeing the papers and it’s not hard to put things together really. Alura’s brother, I don’t remember his name, helped Miss Sandmask with her first real threat.”   


“The death professor, right?” Taryn asked quietly. There was an odd feeling of dread lurking in the pit of her stomach.  _ Just you watch out Taz. _

“Malistaire, yes. He was running all across the Spiral trying to ruin things and Miss Sandmask and Alura’s brother were chasing him everywhere trying to stop him from tearing the world apart. I was living in Mooshu when they tore through there trying to get the spiral key to Dragonspyre.”

_ One day you’re going to walk so deep into trouble- _

“And, well, I don’t know the specifics, but Miss Sandmask came back from Dragonspyre and he didn’t.”

_ -that you won’t be able to walk back out. _

The water settled in her lungs. She’d never heard about that. How had she never heard about that? Sure, she didn’t really ask, but someone had died. By her math, a kid had died. And everyone at Ravenwood had what? Just swept it under the rug like it was nothing? Ignored it? All of the upperclassmen must have gone to school with him. Were they all comfortable not talking about it? She’d think there would at least be some sort of day set aside to remember him. He’d died saving them- all of them, even her- and his thanks was silence.

“Taryn? Are you alright?” Rowan’s words pulled her out of her head. The ice wizard had moved closer to her, a look of concern over her face.

“Yeah, I- I just need some air.”

She stumbled getting up, head leagues ahead of her own feet. She didn’t hear Rowan’s questions or remember to pick up her skateboard. She just let her body take her out of there as fast as it could.


	13. Star

Her mother had been a fortune-teller. The story was that she’d pulled  _ The Star _ in all of her daily tarot readings the entire time she’d been pregnant.  _ Hope, faith, rejuvenation. _ Being pregnant was like a religion to her. That’s probably why she was so wrecked after she finally gave birth to her little daughter, her little Destiny. Her aunt had always told her that her mother just couldn’t survive without something to protect anymore. Like Pandora had reopened her mythical box and let out her last hope, wreaking havoc upon the world, wreaking havoc upon her mother’s frail little mind, body, and soul.

Destiny grew up reading fortunes. She had an odd knack for being right too. It was like the cards cried out for her to flip them. That’s how it had started really. With the tarot cards. It was rare she didn’t have a reading end in tears. She was renounced across Avalon as some sort of magician. The sight, they would call it. Somehow, she never pulled  _ The Star _ in her readings. It was like she could see exactly where it was in the deck and she would avoid it at all costs.  _ Hope, faith, rejuvenation. _ That was her mother’s card, not hers, not anyone else's.

Reading fortunes was what got her noticed. An old man came in one day, weary from traveling, wanting only to be read by the supposed seer. He didn’t seem shocked when her aunt led him into the room where Destiny sat waiting. Most everyone was shocked that she was so small, so young. He asked to hold the deck before she did the reading. “No gimmicks,” he would claim. When he returned it to her, she frowned. “You enchanted it.” “Did I?” “I can’t hear it anymore.” The man raised a monocled eyebrow at her words.

He’d told her then and there that she was more than a mere fortune-teller. A wizard, he claimed. One that belonged at Ravenwood in Wizard City, not reading cards in Avalon. She told him that he was crazy and began his reading.  _ The Star _ glared up at her in anger, the first card out of the deck.  _ Hope, faith, rejuvenation. _ She startled away from the table. “Get out of our house.” “Destiny-” “Out!”

Destiny was a fortune teller, but she was a seer too. After the man left, she couldn’t deny it to herself anymore. She was Pandora and  _ The Star _ haunted her. It sat there in her chest, weighing her down. Let me out, it would say. Let me go play with the others.  _ Hope, faith, rejuvenation. _ She would simply take a deep breath and ignore the way certain objects would give her flashes. She could not see her mother, young, happy, and full of life. She could not see her grandmother, her great grandmother, her great, great grandmother, and so on sitting at the same table and reading fortunes.

Destiny did not want to be a fortune teller. She did not want to see. That house was the box and she wanted out. She wanted to be free of the cards and the flashes and the past. She wanted- she needed to be free of  _ The Star _ . Clawing at her ribs and begging to be set free.  _ Hope, faith, rejuvenation. _ She left the house without a word one night, a rucksack packed and no destination in mind.

_ The Star _ would lead her to where it needed to go. She knew it would.


	14. Defeat

The thing about magic, is that you can always feel it in the air. The energy takes up all of the nearby space, alerting those that are properly tuned to the fact that a spell is about to be cast. The constant snow surrounding the Ice School wasn’t from a single spell, but from the constant usage of Ice magic within its walls. Like leaving a flower pot in the grass for a few months and letting the grass underneath wither and die, the repeated use of magic in one spot affected the spot. That’s what made the dueling arena such an interesting place. So many layers of magic, built on top of each other like sediment. It made it almost impossible for a wizard to feel their opponent's spell before they unleashed it. It made the dueling arena dangerous and challenging.

Rowan always liked challenging.

And Taryn was definitely a challenge. She didn’t fight the way Storm Wizards normally did. She was biding her time, casting traps and blades instead of just throwing attack after attack. Part of her brain was telling her that Taryn hadn’t hit her because she thought that she was weak. One year younger and fragile like glass. But something about the way Taryn had smirked at her when they started told her that a long game was being played. And judging by the amount of negative magical energy surrounding her dueling sigil, she knew she didn’t have much more time until the blonde unleashed whatever hell she was hiding across from her.

Rowan’s saving grace was that she didn’t fight the way Ice Wizards typically did either. She was cold and sharp, chipping away at her opponent like a stonecutter. Small spells that seemed insignificant until you realized just how many times she’d hit you with them. And by then, you were already a goner. Rowan had crafted her entire deck today around defeating Taryn. She was young, it was true, but that meant that Taryn was underestimating her. And that was exactly what she wanted the other wizard to do.

Eyes scanning her cards one last time, Rowan gave her opponent a quick glance. She looked smug. She wouldn’t be for long.

Rowan had gotten the luck of the draw, first to go each round. And now she had the perfect time to show the cocky Storm Wizard who was boss. She maintained her poker face as she selected her spell. Stern with just a hint of worry. Her hands felt a few degrees colder as she gripped her wand, readying herself. Pale blue lights began to fall out of its tip as she traced the casting sigil, a quick chant falling from her lips. She wanted this spell to go perfectly. No screw-ups. Her wand hit the end of the sigil, the light getting brighter for just a moment before quickly going out.

“No, no, no, no, no.” Her mouth fell open in shock, hands reaching out as if she could stop what was happening by collecting the magic in her hands. She did not just fizzle. There was no way. She was an ice wizard. She didn’t fizzle. She just didn’t.

“Better luck next time, Frostheart,” Taryn called from across the way. She threw her hands in large sweeping motions, purple sparks flying out to form a dreadful spiral-ed lightning bolt. Thunder crashed as Taryn finally unleashed her spell, a Kraken rising from the watery depths. Normally it would’ve taken out half of Rowan’s health, but with the blades and traps, it was over. A green shield formed over her sigil as the Kraken attacked, instantly turning a flashing red, practice health instantly depleted.

“Nice job, Taryn,” said Miss Sandmask as the magic of the dueling sigil began to fade. “That was a good match, it really could have gone either way.”   


“I want to go again,” Rowan spoke, arms crossed defiantly.

Taryn laughed. “You’re that eager to get your ass kicked again?”

Sandmask frowned, silver eyes gazing down to the watch on her wrist. “One more. Maybe try different strategies this time?”   
  
Rowan nodded and Taryn shot her a wink. Oh, she was going to wipe that smile off of her face.


	15. Transformation

If you had been awake before the rain came the morning after Brahm Dawncaller’s funeral, you would have seen an odd pair of dirty shoe prints trailing away from his final resting place. You might have caught sight of a ghost of a boy, still dressed in his muddied funeral whites, lurching through the city he once knew. If you had been awake before the sun rose that day, you might have caught a glimpse of that boy, ripping a dark cloak from a clothesline and wrapping it around himself to protect his still cold as death skin from the droplets beginning to fall from the dreary sky. And if you were a crewmate on the  Hringhorni you might just have seen that ghost sneaking on board and finding a nice place for himself amongst the burlap stacks. ****

The denizens of Grizzleheim saw that ghostlike boy, aimlessly floating through the market. They’d speak in hushed whispers, eyes trailing after him as he passed by. That oddly familiar boy, surrounded by the dark cloud of death. He was gone by the next morning, just as the trouble in Wintertusk began. An omen, they would all tell themselves. The dark specter on his pale horse, haunting their streets as a warning of the darkness to come. ****

And that is who he became, the name Brahm left behind on an unread tombstone. He was simply a ghost, wandering the realms, looking for something he couldn’t quite place. It was a feeling that guided him. Something- someone- he knew. He followed the ghost of her across the spiral, hoping to catch the smallest glimpse of her. Something to ground him, tether him to this world before he lost himself again.

Brahm Dawncaller wasn’t dead, but he was very much a ghost.


	16. History

To say Cassandra was reluctant to take on this mentoring position would be a vast understatement. Halston came over every day after she turned them all down to tell her about all of the ways it would benefit her and these kids. They were all exceptionally bright, just a little socially inept. As professors, they had hordes of kids to deal with and couldn’t afford to give any special attention to the ones that needed it. And Cass was the perfect candidate to teach. She knew so much about all the different forms of magic. She knew what it was like, out in the real world where the professors couldn’t coddle them anymore. She ended up giving in after two weeks of his nagging.

So here she was, walking down a hallway in the Wizard City Library with Arthur, feeling more like Cyrus than she ever wanted to. The dog, her first teacher, turned to her with a smile as he stopped in front of a closed door. “Are you ready?”

She could do this. It was just a couple of teenage girls. She was a teenage girl once. Technically she still was one for a few more months. What were the kids into these days? Potions? Jewel socketing? Hexes? Probably hexes. Oh god- she was absolutely overthinking this. They could probably sense her insecurities from the other side of the door.

Forcing herself to take a breath, she returned Arthur’s smile as best she could. “As I’ll ever be.”

“Girls, I am glad that you could all make it,” Arthur greeted as he walked inside. “I’m sure you all have a lot of questions about our little project here but first I’d like to introduce you to-”

“What are you doing here?”

The voice stopped Cass in her tracks, eyes the size of saucers as she looked at the speaker. The cold anger was impossible to miss. Her sharp features were like knives and her words crackled against Cassandra’s skin like boiling oil. She could barely sense the shock and hurt lying underneath the burning rage. The fury was so overwhelming she couldn’t bring herself to move or speak, hopelessly watching as Alura started to grab her things.

Arthur’s hand lightly touching her elbow shocked her out of it. “Alura-”

“Don’t.”

Alura blew past them, leaving Cass gaping like a fish in the doorway. Then she noticed the other two girls sitting in the room and staring at them, clearly confused. They were both a couple of years younger than Alura, the blue and purple of their robes indicated their schools and their wide eyes indicated their worry. Her chest fell up and down quickly, trying to trap the air in her lungs. Why hadn’t anyone told her that Alura would be there? Why hadn’t anyone told Alura that she would be there? What kind of-

“Ladies I am so sorry about-”

“I need to go,” Cass spoke, barely a whisper.

“Miss Cassandra-” he tried to stop her but she failed to listen, stumbling back out of the study room.

Her feet carried her out of the library and across the Commons. Alura’s anger had left her with distance, but her head wasn’t screwed on straight. The other girl had torn through her mental space, upended boxes, and tearing down all of her systems. Her mind was scattered, eyes clouded and distant as she stumbled into the headmaster’s office.

“Are you alright?” Gamma cooed, feathers fluttering as she noticed her.

“Where’s-”

“Cassandra?” Ambrose asked. He had a stack of papers in his hands, clearly coming in to add them to the ever-expanding piles. She tried to take a step forward but faltered, reaching out to the nearest chair for aid. He rushed over as quickly as his brittle bones allowed, placing a hand on her shoulder in support. “What happened?”

“Alura, she . . .” Cass tried to collect her thoughts and feelings, forcing everything back into its proper box in her head. Why hadn’t anyone told her that Alura would be there? Why hadn’t anyone told Alura that she would be there? She threw Merle’s hand off of her shoulder, body filling with her own anger. “What was that? You set me up!”

“Young Wizard, I-”

“You lied to me!”

“I withheld certain information-”

She scoffed. It’d been so long since she really worked with him on something. She’d forgotten how underhanded he could be when he wanted to accomplish something. She’d saved the spiral at his behest how many times now? Two of those times were the direct results of his own mishandlings and he still failed to trust her.

“You know Alura and I’s history! You knew that she didn’t want to see me and you went directly against her wishes! God, I-” she closed her eyes, hand covering her face, trying to stop herself from crying. “I can’t- I- . . . she doesn’t want to see me, Ambrose. I know you want us both to start healing but we- we can’t do that together. We just can’t.”

His arms unexpectedly wrapped around her, pulling her into his chest. She let it happen, too tired to fight back against him. These wounds were old but they had never healed over. And Merle just had to dredge up the past. She couldn’t imagine how Alura must feel.


	17. Fatal Wound

Alura didn’t know what it was like to have her heart ripped out. Which really, made complete sense seeing as it laid beating in her chest.  _ Tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-thump. _ Life Wizards were more in tune with their bodies than other wizards. It came with the territory. They were medics and healers, they had to be acutely aware of theirs of others' physical presences. Most practitioners of life magic could sense a heartbeat through the lightest touch of skin to skin contact. Alura’s own beat was a steady rhythm in her head.  _ Tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-thump _ . Over and over, resting just on the outside of her consciousness.

In her first year at Ravenwood, Professor Wu taught her a spell called  _ heartbeat _ . It was a small health boost for you or a teammate. It had been her first healing spell, too. She’d been so excited when she got it right. The warmth that spread through her was like nothing she’d ever felt and her heartbeat flooded her ears.  _ Tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-thump _ . She’d rushed straight to Brahm’s classroom, eagerly waiting for him outside so she could show him first thing. He had laughed and smiled and complimented her on how quickly she was learning like a good big brother would. Then Gamma had landed near them. The headmaster needed to speak with Brahm about something urgent. He told her to keep practicing as he took off jogging.

Alura didn’t know what it was like to have her heart ripped out, but she knew what it was like to be lonely. When she pictured her first year at Ravenwood, she always imagined Brahm being a part of it. He’d help her study and make fun of her. He’d introduce her to his friends and she’d introduce him to hers. They’d laugh together and be even closer than before now that she knew what going to school with him was like. Instead, he found refuge and friendship with the Balance Wizard. When they weren’t defending the city from threats engineered by the old Death professor, they were studying and making fun of each other. Without her.  _ Tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-thump. _ Her own heartbeat was the only one to echo in her ears. 

When they finally defeated the evil at the heart of Wizard City’s plagues, Alura thought she would finally get her brother back. But it wasn’t meant to be. Ambrose sent them off on quests to increasingly dangerous worlds in pursuit of Malistaire Drake. Alura couldn’t stop herself from hating Cassandra Sandmask. She knew it was silly and to hate her brother’s first girlfriend but she couldn’t help it. It made her blood boil and her heart pound in her ears to think about the way things were supposed to have been.  _ Tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-thump. _

Alura didn’t know what it was like to have her heart ripped out, but when her brother asked her to tell their parents that he loved them before running off to Dragonspyre, it felt pretty close. She didn’t understand why he was being so strange. It was dangerous to go, they all knew it was dangerous, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t give his own goodbyes. It was like he thought he wasn’t coming back. Which was ridiculous. He was strong- he was so strong. And hate her as she may, Cassandra was a powerful wizard. She knew that they were going to be okay but with every day her heart raced a little faster.  _ The-thump, tha-thump, tha-thump. _

She’d been in class when they heard the commotion. Professor Wu asked them to stay in their seats while she checked things out, but none of them listened.

_ Tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-thump. _

A large group had formed outside of Bartley’s trees, students of all ages clambering to get a look at something.

_ Tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-thump. _

Alura pushed through the crowd, shoving upperclassmen out of her way to get to what they were looking at.

_ Tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-thump. _

The crowd suddenly broke away and she saw what all of the fuss was about. Cassandra was trying to clear a path through the crowd, bruised, bloody, and fending off any offers of treatment by her fellow wizards. Professor Drake was just behind her, head held high and yelling at the students to clear away and let them through. And her brother, cold and lifeless in the professor’s arms.

Her heart stopped beating at the sight of it. The scream she let out startled everyone to a standstill, allowing the Dragonspyre party to push through the rest of the crowd. Her knees hit the cobblestone, followed by her palms, skin splitting on the cold rock. Another wail tore through her throat, kicking Professor Wu into action. The woman yelled for the students to back up as she hyperventilated, choking on the air that refused to go into her lungs.

Alura didn’t know what it was like to have her heart ripped out, but she knew what it was like to die.


	18. Candlelight

Wizards, it turned out, really liked candles. It was one of the first things Taryn noticed after coming to Wizard City. Crazy old guy, talking owl, lots and lots of candles. It wasn’t like they didn’t have the technology for electronic lights either, she’d seen Professor Balestrom working on some pretty crazy technology, flashing lights included. They just didn't use them. And the only conclusion she could come to as to why was that they really, really liked candles. She could understand that. It was a commitment to an aesthetic. Or a commitment to keeping candlemakers in business. Either way, it didn’t bother her that much. Nothing to worry about.

It was about three months into her stay that she realized they were magic candles. Professor Drake had been droning on and on about something she didn’t understand- or frankly, give a shit about- and she’d found her attention drawn to the scones on the wall, watching the flame flicker like a pulse. It took her entire focus for a full hour to recognize that the candle didn’t seem to melt. No wax ran down its side, none dripped onto the carpet. It stood tall and resolute, the exact same height as every other candle in the room.

“Miss Starwielder.” Taryn jumped, spooked by the sudden voice. The class was gone and Professor Drake was standing over her, displeasure written all over his long face. “Class was dismissed several minutes ago.”

The candles started irking her after that. They watched her from every wall, a campus covered in unsweltering wax. She couldn’t tell you what it was about them that bothered her, but they did. They absolutely did. It got so bad that at the end of her first year she got a ladder and forcibly removed all of the magical candles in her dorm room. Sure, she could only work there when the sun was out, but anything was better than the candles.

It was a comfort to come back to her dorm room at the end of the day and watch the creeping sunlight after a day trapped in the unchanging candlelight.


	19. Fear

Rowan used to be fond of the silence. She lived in it, reveled in it. It was the warm blanket she wrapped herself in at night to feel safe. When given the choice between practicing with or without music, she always chose the heavy silence. She kept time to the beat in her head, putting her trust in the fall of point shoes on hardwood and uneven gasps for breath as opposed to a steady stream of music. She studied in that same softness, her focus in the light turning of pages and muted sounds from the campus below.

It was in that same stillness she wrote her letters to her parents. Her quill would scratch out the ways her classes were going and her personal successes, the only sound in the hushed atmosphere. She’d smooth down the edges as smoothly as possible and tuck each letter into an envelope alongside her most recent grades or photographs she was particularly proud of. Each envelope was sealed with their family crest, a blue wax heart with seven spheres inside. She’d always address the letter to her father’s assistant, just so she knew that he and her mother would receive each one even if they changed addresses without telling her.

When they didn’t reply to the first letter, she assumed there was an issue in the post. When they didn’t reply to the second, she thought that her father’s assistant might’ve changed his postage address. With the third, she convinced herself that the assistant was very, very confused as to why she was writing to him instead of her parents. It was only after the fourth that she admitted to herself that they didn’t intend to write back. She could picture her words, strewn out across her mother’s desk carefully scrutinized but deemed unworthy of response. She could see them tucked into a dark box, a weight pushed to the back of their hearts by pushing it out of sight. She could see them burning slowly in the crackling fire, dark blue wax melting onto sizzling embers as her father looked on.

It was after the fourth letter she began to hate the silence.

Her letters became angry, erratic penmanship illustrating her frustrations with their behavior, with their parenting style, with their stilled hands and close-lipped policies. Her folds were sharp, writing sharper. Each time she pressed the seal into the wax she’d do it with years of quiet anger behind it. The letters were angry and loud because she just couldn’t stand the soundlessness any longer.

She had never really enjoyed the silence, she reasoned with herself. She’d like those syncopated beats. The sounds that cut straight through the quiet, the pins that dropped in the settling house. Those moments in between, short and sweet or long and lewd, she hated them. They had always filled her with anxiety and fervor and she used them to dance and study and learn because the need to hear the next movement pushed her to do more. The silence was the night racing on her heels as she ran through a dark forest. The wolves howling from a distance away, maybe miles maybe meters. The silence was her mother telling her to move her feet faster and it was her father telling her to hold her head higher.

Rowan used to be fond of the silence. She lived in it, terrified of it. It was the thick blanket wrapped itself around her throat. When given the choice between practicing with or without music, she always chose her scratchy record box. She kept time to the beat of the music, putting her trust in the rise of the crescendos and uneven gasps for breath as opposed to a steady stream of quiet. She studied to those same melodies, her focus in the light plucking of notes, muting the sounds from the campus below.


	20. Hope

Alura wasn’t a necromancer by any means. She’d always had an affinity for life. A child of light and hope. Built for life magic, just like her father. Ever since she was a little girl it was obvious to her family just what school of magic she would belong to. She was like a spring green sprig, young, bright, and full of potential for life. Her brother was death in only the sweetest ways. The smell of freshly turned soil, the soft comfort of a loved one’s ghostly hand on your shoulder. Their energies weren’t polar opposites like you’d expect them to be, but sweet harmonies that wove around each other in an intricate dance.

She didn’t feel the need to study necromancy during her first year at Ravenwood. It was common that students in their first year take courses in all of the magical disciplines, but since there was no longer a death school it was no longer required. Not to mention that studying death had become a bit taboo after the professor decided to attack Ravenwood and try to destroy Wizard City.

She’d never learned a single thing about death magic, so when she sat there, fists clutching at the dirt of her brother’s fresh grave, she had no idea what she was doing, mumbling spells and pleads into the dirt, there was no illusion that something would truly come of it. Her parents watched her from afar, whispering quietly to each other while they gave her the proper time to mourn. They all missed the way the trees stood a little taller and the blades of grass seemed to turn to her in solidarity. It was all of her hope and misery, seeping out of her and into the very soil. Her parents would come over to collect her after a few minutes as the dark began to set into the sky.

They’d all miss it not a half-hour later when he crawled up out of the dirt, funeral whites stained dark with mud. Alura Dawncaller was not a necromancer, but perhaps there was something to be said for the power of life, love, and heart-shattering hope.


End file.
